


Twin of the Sun

by orphan_account



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smoker gets transferred to the police's Loguetown branch. He meets Ace, a pain in the ass and probably the physical embodiment of the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: a highly self-indulgent and inconsistent story told in various drabbles about the relationship between a grumpy old fart and a hot college student

It’s the kid’s crooked smile that gets to Smoker the most. It’s too damn bright.

It also irritates him how the brat can keep smiling while covered in bruises. There’s dried blood on his nose and jaw, Smoker observes.

Smoker chews the ends of his cigar.  “So, what are you here for today, Portgas?”

Portgas leans back and throws his arms over the back of the chair, still grinning. “You know, the usual.” He chuckles a little. It’s a warm, dry sound that contrasts with the chilly autumn air.

“And that would be…?”

“Getting kicked out for looking like shit. Said I can’t walk around campus looking like someone chucked me out of a moving car.”

Smoker should have seen this coming.

“And how exactly did this happen?”

“Got in a fight.”

 _Of course,_  Smoker thinks. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“You could patch me up?” Portgas’s cheeky smile grows.

“I’m a cop, not a nurse.”

“I know, but if I go to a doctor they’ll ask me questions.”

“And what makes you think I won’t?” Smoker challenges.

“It’s ‘cause you like me.”

“I tolerate you. There’s a difference. I’ve got better things to do than handle street punks who get their asses handed to them.” Smoker picks up the stack of papers on his desk and begins skimming them.

“Hey! I won that fight, old man!” Portgas seems genuinely offended.

Smoker almost laughs.

“Come on, you’re not busy right now are you?”

Smoker shoots a disdainful glare at the silent walkie-talkie. “No, I’m not.”

“Then fix me up.” Portgas is already on his feet, rummaging through Smoker’s desk.

Smoker pushes him out of the way. “Sit down, brat.”

Portgas obediently returns to the chair and Smoker can feel his eyes on him. He removes the first-aid kit from the drawer and in the back of his mind, is grateful Tashigi decided to leave early today. She ran out earlier hurriedly saying something about running kitchen appliances.

He takes out the antibiotics only to find that Portgas is slumped in the chair, snoring away. Smoker rolls his eyes.

\--

As he fixes the last of Portgas’s bandages, he thinks back on how he even met the kid in the first place.

The first he’d ever heard of Portgas was about half a year ago, in the spring. It had been around lunchtime, and Smoker had just returned with two coffees, fully prepared to engage in some caffeine-powered paperwork. He was leisurely sipping said coffee when his boss, Monkey D. Garp, cheerfully slammed his fist on his desk. Any other person would have jumped at least a foot in the air, but Smoker merely eyed Garp with annoyance.

“So I hear you’re being transferred to the Lougetown branch?” The large man boomed.

“What of it?”

“That’s near the Grand Line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Smoker took a swig of coffee. “Notorious for the gangs and street wars that come from the vicinity of Grand Line University, among other things. They’re in need of cops who don’t shit themselves at the prospect of having to take on the crime there. Especially a new captain.”

“That means you’ll probably run into my grandsons, then!” Garp guffawed.

Smoker raised an eyebrow. “Grandsons?”

“They’re a real kick in the balls, those two.” Garp’s laughter bubbled down, but a large grin was still present on the bastard’s face. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth. Probably still rowdy brats, just like I remember.”

Garp helped himself to Smoker’s untouched second coffee. “That’s good coffee.” He declared after making an obnoxious noise of satisfaction.

“Anyways, I’ve arrested those runts more times than I can count, mostly for stupid shit. Akainu’s been trying to get ‘em in the slammer every time we catch them.” Garp laughed again. Smoker’s patience was whittling down quickly. He quickly replaced his coffee with a cigar.

“For what ‘stupid shit?’”

“Everything, really. Luffy’s got a bad habit of getting into fights and is a master at the whole dine n’ dash act. He’s going to be freshman this year at Grand Line, though it’s a wonder how he did it since the kid’s got rocks for brains.” Garp took another large gulp of the coffee. “Ace is even worse; dine n’ dash, underground fist-fighting, arson, underage drinking…”

Smoker took a long drag of his cigar while listening. _Maybe this promotion wasn’t such a good thing after all…_

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to straighten them out.”

Smoker was not amused.

“Don’t look so pissed. If it makes you feel any better, Tashigi’s being stationed there, too.” Garp downed the last of the coffee. “Anyways, if you run into my idiot grandsons, don’t be afraid to give them a pummeling; I know I’m not!”

And with that, Garp left with tears in his eyes and thunderous laughter echoing the room.

Smoker decided he needed a drink.

Somehow, Tashigi was able to read him perfectly and suggested they scope out the local bar near the Loguetown station.

“It’ll be good to familiarize ourselves with the area,” she reasoned.

Smoker didn’t see anything wrong with that, as long as he could soak his liver in alcohol and his lungs in cigar smoke.

They reached the bar, an inconspicuous place with a pirate flag adorning the entrance. It was aptly named the Moby Dick.

Tashigi began inquiring civilians about the surrounding area, but Smoker’s first priority was to grab a seat at the bar. Immediately, a man strode up from the other side of the bar to greet him.

“Good evening, sir. How may I serve you tonight?”

“Give me the strongest stuff you have.”

“Certainly.” The man looked more like a kid to Smoker. It was probably the childish freckles.

When the barista set down a cup of something questionable-looking, Smoker took note of the nametag.

“Ace…?” His brow furrowed. “That your name?”

The barista grinned. “Yep, Portgas D. Ace at your service. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

This couldn’t possibly be the grandson Garp was talking about. This kid was too polite.

“Are you related to Monkey D. Garp?”

Portgas’s face turned dark. “You know the old man?”

Smoker gave a noncommittal noise and took a sip of his drink. _Not bad_ , Smoker thought. _It even burned a bit_. “He’s my boss.”

Portgas immediately tensed. “Did he send you down here to make me become a cop?”

“No, I came down here for a drink. But do something stupid and I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.” Smoker finished his glass and held it out to the barista. “Give me another one.”

Portgas visibly relaxed and the previous smile returned to his face. “Coming right up.”

Smoker started downing the drink in front of him when he noticed that Portgas was watching him.

“How do you like it? It’s my special formula; has a little kick to it, doesn’t it? I call it ‘Heat Haze.’” Portgas explained proudly.

Smoker ignored him and continued draining the glass.

Portgas watched him in awe. “You know, not many people order a second glass, let alone chug the whole damn thing like that. You lack taste buds or something, old man?”

Smoker placed the glass back onto the bar. “Probably. The only things I taste these days are coffee and cigars. And I’m not old, punk.”

Before Portgas could say anything else, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Standing behind him was a man with a pompadour that looked like it was cared for like a prized lapdog; the man’s hair was most likely subject to extensive drowning in hair gel. “Hey, Ace. Pops says you can go home now.”

“What? I have two more hours to go, Thatch.” Portgas’s face was perplexed.

The man named Thatch grinned. “It’s Friday, though. Pops and everyone else knows you gotta take care of Luffy.”

“But-“

Thatch held an index finger up. “No buts. You’re his big brother, aren’t ya? You’ve been working late all week. Besides, Pops said he’d pay you for your original hours.”

“…Alright. Thanks, Thatch.” Portgas then faced Smoker before he left. “It was a pleasure serving you tonight. I hope you visit us soon.”

\--

Smoker snorts.

His first impression of the kid hadn’t been too bad, but these last five months…

Smoker’s thoughts are interrupted by Portgas’s voice.

“Whatcha thinkin’ so hard about, old man?” Portgas is sitting upright in the chair, staring intently at Smoker, who had been looking out the window with a cigar in his mouth.

Smoker snuffs out his cigar. “Nothing.”

 “Hey, remember when we first met?” Portgas suddenly asks.

Smoker looks him dead in the eye. “If you try to get sentimental on me I’m going to throw you out onto the cold street.”

Portgas just laughs.


	2. Chapter 2

Portgas drops by the next day. It’s surprising how he still has the audacity to walk into the station even after being arrested more than a few times. Or at least, it would be if this was a new scene.

What is surprising is Smoker’s apparent unwavering sixth sense. The moment Portgas sets foot through the entrance, Smoker lets out an exasperated groan. Without even leaving his office, he can envision Portgas practically skipping through the rest of the station, politely greeting the staff and effectively befuddling them. ( _Is that really the kid Smoker arrested on a weekly basis?_ they whisper.)

Two raps at his office door are followed by the unwelcome intrusion of a mischievous freckled face. “Hey, Captain!”

Smoker looks up from his desk. “What the hell do you want?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to say thanks for, you know, last night.” Portgas says this just loud enough for a few others to hear and winks at Smoker with a smirk.

It takes all of Smoker’s self-control not to strangle the kid. “You’re welcome.” He grits out tightly. “Now get out, punk.”

 “Why do you keep calling me a punk? Isn’t that a term usually reserved for grandpas yelling at teenagers to get off their lawns? I’m not a teenager, you know.”

Smoker internally cringes at indirectly being referred to as a ‘grandpa.’

The moment Smoker takes to distress over his age is the moment Portgas takes to strategically swipe his lunch off his desk. After taking the first bite, his eyes are shining. “This is delicious, old man!” he excitedly informs Smoker.

“Did you just come here to eat my lunch?”

“Well, no.” Portgas swallows the last of Smoker’s sandwich. “I wanted to ask if I could hang out. Here.”

Smoker looks at him incredulously. At least, as incredulously as his permanently stoic face would allow him. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” A pout graces Portgas’s already childish face. “I promise I won’t make any noise.”

“You’re already making noise.”

“Okay, I meant _after_ you let me chill in your office. Please?”

Smoker knows he’ll be here the rest of the day bargaining with Portgas if he doesn’t relent. “Fine, but stay on the couch and out of my way.” Smoker jabs his thumb at the dark blue couch in his office. It is usually host to other officers nervously giving their reports to Smoker, but as of late it sports Portgas’s lanky body, usually injured in some way, sprawled across its length.

The kid’s face splits into that grin that irks Smoker to no end. “Thanks!”

 Portgas reaches the overstuffed cushions and immediately makes himself comfortable, taking out a textbook he begins to intently read while lying down. The sight reminds Smoker of a content cat.

Smoker removes himself from his desk chair, cracking open a window to clear the air before Portgas dies of smoke inhalation. Or it could serve as a handy exit to kick Portgas out of should he cause trouble, Smoker decides. He looks over to the person in question; Portgas hasn’t moved and is still focused on his textbook.

Smoker begins sifting through the extensive sheets littering his desk. Crime in the first stretch before the Grand Line had dropped significantly since his arrival; he recalls ensnaring low-class thugs almost every day when he first started at the Loguetown station. Now, he mostly deals with paperwork and the occasional robbery. Crime further down the Grand Line has escalated, and while Smoker would be thrilled to partake in the action, he’s not allowed to meddle outside of his district. The peacefulness has made him restless.

Though, after hours’ worth of paperwork, he finds he’s not as disgruntled as he usually is. The frustration he would feel pondering his current predicament ebbs as he finally brings his gaze from the pile of forms in front of him.

The first thing his eyes settle on is Portgas, who is reading a different textbook than before and has his ears occupied with a music player. The way his brow is creased in concentration is almost comical, especially to Smoker, who has had minimal experience with a Portgas D. Ace who actually displayed any sign of being in school. Portgas runs his hand through his dark wavy hair and sighs, evidently stumped by some concept in the text.

Smoker feels like disrupting the comfortable air would be punishable by law, but he reluctantly gets up and closes the window when a crisp breeze permeates the room.

Portgas turns his head towards Smoker’s direction, slightly disoriented. “Is it time to go?”

“Yeah,” Smoker replies while crushing his last cigar into the ashtray.

Portgas sits up and gathers his belongings, shoving them into his oddly-patterned bag.

He looks at Smoker oddly for a moment.

“What?” Smoker notices Portgas’s stare.

“Nothing,” Portgas thoughtfully rubs his chin. “You look less… tense than usual?”

“Work wears me out.” Smoker dons his thick coat and stuffs his box of cigars into one pocket.

“You didn’t seem that worn out when you were chasing me through back alleys.” Portgas points out.

 “Sitting at a desk for hours on end is not exactly comparable to catching thugs and unruly punks.” Smoker deadpans.

“Are you saying you had more fun playing with me across town?” Portgas snickers. “Maybe we should have a round of tag for old time’s sake, huh?”

“Try anything unsavory and you’ll get your game of tag, Portgas.”

“Haha, you never take a break from keeping today’s youth in line, do you?”

“Nope.” Smoker fishes out his keys from his coat pocket. “Now unless you want me to lock in my office overnight, I suggest you get going.”

Portgas slings his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for today, old man! Oh, and sorry I ate your lunch. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“See ya!” Portgas calls as he walks out. The smile he gives Smoker is the usual bold flash of white teeth.

 _What a weird kid_ , Smoker muses as he locks the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im such a slow writer omg

Portgas has, unfortunately, made a habit of occupying Smoker’s office during the afternoon.

He comes by a few times a week and Smoker can’t help but wonder if Portgas has anything better to do than devour his lunch and cause general unease throughout the rest of the station.

“Don’t you have class?” Smoker asks the eight time he cheerfully steps into the office.

Portgas shrugs. “My classes are in the morning and I don’t have work ‘til later tonight.”

“Why don’t you hang out with your friends or something?”

“You’re my friend.”

“I don’t remember being your friend.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Captain.” Portgas grins. “I think we did a lot of bonding these last few months when you handcuffed me and treated my wounds.”

“Then you’re delusional.”

“Ooh, cold.” Portgas chuckles.

The faint click of heels is the only warning given before the door to Smoker’s office is flung open.

“Smoker!” A woman pokes her head inside.

The woman looks at Portgas, who is lying on the couch.

“…Hina didn’t realize it was ‘Take Your Child to Work Day’?” She asks Smoker.

Both Smoker and Portgas sputter at this.

“He’s not my kid!” Smoker exclaims.

“I’m not a kid!” Portgas blurts at the same time.

The woman named Hina looks thoughtful for a moment. “That’s true. Hina doesn’t remember you having a child. And if you did, he probably wouldn’t be so cute.”

“Very funny.” Smoker regains his composure. “What do you want?”

“Hina wanted to know if you want to have dinner tonight.”

Portgas’s interest seems piqued.

“I’m busy.” Smoker gruffly answers.

“No, you’re not.” she huffs. “Hina knows you’re probably going to go home, smoke your nasty cigars, and go to sleep before 9 o’clock.”

“Yes, because I’m old and I need my sleep.”

“You’re no fun.” Hina turns her gaze towards Portgas.

“Who’s this, anyways?” she points at him with a gloved finger.

“This is Portgas. The troublemaker I’ve been telling you about.”

Portgas stands up and extends a hand towards Hina. “My name is Portgas D. Ace. It’s nice to meet you.”

Hina shakes the hand and nods. “Hina returns the sentiment. Hina has been friends with Smoker since his academy days, and even then he acted like a disgruntled senior citizen.”

As much as he would like to, Smoker is unable to refute Hina’s statement.

Portgas coughs into his fist at this, struggling to hold in some remark that would no doubt aggravate Smoker.

“What is Ace doing in your office anyways, Smoker? He doesn’t seem to be under arrest… have you finally managed to reform him into another vigilante of justice?”

“I wish.” Smoker grumbles.

“Subjecting young minds to your tirades of justice and imminent lung cancer is a very cruel fate, you know; Hina feels bad for your protégés. First Tashigi and now Ace?”

 “Please. He’s just a nuisance who won’t stop lounging in my office.”

“I don’t deny this.” Portgas adds.

“Are you friends now?”

“Yeah! We’re buddies.”

“We’re _acquaintances_ ,” Smoker corrects him.

“Oh, really? That’s a shame. Hina thought she had someone she could share your embarrassing stories from training days with.” Smoker bristles at this. The things he’s attempted at police academy practically rivals the shit Portgas has been up to these last few months.

“I’ll listen to them anyways.”Portgas pipes up.

“Hina, don’t you dare-“Smoker almost rises from his seat.

“Relax, Smoker. Hina was joking.” Hina waves her hand and sighs. “You need to lighten up.

“It’s not like you’re any better.” Smoker mutters under his breath.

Hina rolls her eyes and produces a phone from her pocket. “Hina has to leave now; are you sure you don’t want to have dinner? The captains from the other branches will be there too.”

“I don’t need to see their faces.”

“Well bye then, Smoker. Hina wishes you luck in smoking your cigars. Oh, and Mr. Portgas? Take good care of Smoker for Hina, okay?”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.” Portgas gives a mock salute.

With that, Hina spins on her heels and strides out of the office.

Portgas looks questioningly at Smoker.

“Not one word, Portgas.” Smoker clamps a cigar between his teeth and lights it. “She’s just a longtime friend.”

“So I’ve noticed. How come you didn’t want to go to that dinner?”

“Because I don’t want to see the sorry personnel that comprise the rest of the police department.” Smoker takes a drag of the cigar. “Most of those men are so corrupt a five-dollar bill could get them to look the other way of a crime. And then there’s those Shichibukai…” Wait, why was he telling Portgas this?

“Hey, if you don’t want to go to that dinner thing maybe I can pay you back for that time I ate your lunch?” Portgas suggests.

Smoker’s eyebrow rises.

“Sorry. Times I ate your lunch.” Portgas says unabashedly.

“And how exactly do you propose to do that?”

Portgas scratches the back of his head. “Well, I got you a little something, but I forgot it at home…”

“Do I want to know what it is?”

“I’m not going to tell you ‘cause it’s a surprise. Think you got some time to spare?”

Two things Smoker loathes are wasting time and breaking routine. But Portgas has both wasted his time and crashed his routine on numerous occasions since they met; he supposes one more unwelcome interruption won’t kill him. “Fine. But make it quick. I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what? Watching trashy soaps?” Scratch that, he’s close to rescinding his decision.

“Should I break out the duct tape?”

“No, sir.” Portgas’s face splits into that shit-eating grin of his.

“Then get on with it.” Smoker heaves the jacket onto his shoulders and collects his few belongings.

Smoker locks the door to his office and they make their way to the entrance. Tashigi wishes Smoker a nice evening and observes Ace, who bounds after him, with a perplexed expression. Smoker waves her goodbye, telling her to keep up the good work. He says this every time he leaves Tashigi, but he truly means it; Tashigi is irreplaceable as a cop, partner, and companion. Smoker has passed on his tricks and skills to her, and views her almost like a little sister. Tashigi still has much to learn, though, and losing some of her scatterbrained habits wouldn’t hurt either. Tashigi’s a good kid, though. She has plenty of time to develop into a seasoned cop.

 “Are you gonna take the cop car?” Portgas stops outside the entrance gestures at the station’s garage.

“Gas is expensive. And walking never killed anyone, did it?”

“Guess not.” Porgas slips his hands in his pockets and starts walking. “Better get going. I live in East Blue, by the way.”

East Blue is the district closest to Loguetown, and the activity there is pretty calm in comparison to the other districts. Before he had his feet nailed down in Loguetown, Smoker ventured into East Blue on a few occasions. Smoker is relieved when he remembers it wasn’t that far of a walk. He starts after Portgas, who is waiting for him next to a browning tree. 

The blast of chilled air that hits Smoker is unwelcome, and he wrinkles his nose and squints as the wind passes. It’s freezing, or maybe that’s just because Smoker rarely ventures out of a confined area filled with the warmth from his cigar smoke. He glances at Portgas, who seems unperturbed by the drop in temperature. This is made even more bizarre by the fact that the only things Portgas is wearing are those uncomfortable-looking skinny jeans everyone seems to be wearing and a bright orange sweater with a hole in one elbow. The wind picks up, blowing through Portgas’s hair, but he seems to relish the breeze instead of flinching away like much of the passerby.

“Aren’t you cold?” Smoker didn’t mean for this to slip out, but it’s too late. The kid’s eyes are on him.

For whatever reason, Portgas seems thoughtful for a moment. “Nah. I feel just fine.”

The look on Smoker’s face must have said something along the lines of what the fuck, because Portgas shrugs and continues.

“The cold’s never really bothered me.  I guess I just have a high body temperature? People tell me I’m actually a portable heater. Here,” Porgtas suddenly takes one of Smoker’s large hands in his smaller pair (they’re calloused and scarred, Smoker notices) and removes the leather glove covering it. The cold nips at his hand for a split second before Portgas cups his hand in his two.

And holy shit, the kid wasn’t joking. At first, he was sure his hands were burning, but now they’re just toasty. He wonders if Portgas is going to let go of his hand anytime soon, because it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy having his hand warmed. He definitely likes that, what person wouldn’t?  But the feeling of his hand in Portgas’s is so foreign to him, and he doesn’t know if he should be as still as possible or pull away. The moment ends when he clenches his hand into a fist unconsciously and Portgas removes his hands.

“Weird, right?” Portgas shoves his glove in Smoker’s face, which the other snatches up to shield his hand from the cold.

“Yeah, weird.” Smoker replies offhandedly, still considering the previous moment.

They walk in silence the rest of the way. Smoker finds this a bit awkward, and maybe Portgas does too, since he’s studying the scenery so intensely. 

Portgas interrupts his reverie when he stops in front of a small, single-story house. “We’re here.”

Portgas unlocks the door and flings it wide open. “Come in before your joints freeze, old man.”

Smoker’s permanent frown deepens slightly. “I’d rather not.”

“Right. Forgot about your tight schedule.” Portgas sighs and shrugs. “Suit yourself. Wait here, okay?”

Portgas dashes into the house and soon returns with something suspiciously black and bright orange.

“Here, for you.” Portgas holds it up with a smile and Smoker’s eyes widen. 

It’s hideous, and that’s being generous. Smoker wants to say the creation is a scarf, but he can’t be sure. It’s constructed out of black and blindingly orange yarn that had been knotted numerous times in what looked like bouts of frustration or clumsiness. The body of consists of alternating, uneven segments of orange and black while the ends seemed to be frayed. 

“It’s a scarf I made.” Portgas confirms, dropping it into Smoker’s hands. “Or tried to, anyways.”

“Izou said I was terrible at this, and he’s right.” Portgas’s brow furrows as he scrutinizes what he’s made. “But it’s the thought that counts, or something. At least it should keep you warm?”

Smoker isn’t sure what to say. It hurts his eyes to look at his present directly, but it’s a bit endearing, he decides.

Smoker takes the scarf and wraps it around his neck. “Thanks.” He doesn’t smile when he says this, but his gaze softens when he addresses the kid. 

And apparently Portgas notices the change in Smoker’s usually hard demeanor, because he immediately lights up. “No problem!”

Smoker turns to walk away when he hears Portgas ask from the doorway, “I can still take your lunch, right?”

Smoker tosses him a “You wish, kid.” As he travels down the walkway, Portgas's laughter reaches his ears.

Smoker feels just a little bit warmer on his way home.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! i was busy with school+life these past couple weeks.

On the days Smoker patrols, he ends up noticing that lately, he’s either chasing Portgas or his equally idiotic brother, Monkey D. Luffy. In retrospect, there was really no point in convincing Tashigi to let him out on the streets if this was all he was going to do, but it’s refreshing to get out and he can pretend he’s not responsible for the mountain of dead trees on his desk when he’s sprinting after one of those brats.

Today just so happens to be one of those days where he catches the straw hat-wearing imp and his strange band of friends wreaking their special brand of havoc on the Grand Line’s first stretch. He finds only three members of the Strawhat crew right now; they’re in the parking lot of a shabby apartment building and said building is currently being subjected to several new murals. Illegal murals, Smoker might add.

In a split second he’s starting off in the vandals’ direction with a forceful yell of “STRAWHAT!”

While he barrels towards the punks in question, Strawhat looks at him with that cheeky grin that makes him look like an actual monkey and grabs both his cohorts by the arm. They’re pulled over a nearby fence when Strawhat clears it, running away with the poor souls in tow. Smoker hurdles over the fence after them, his persistent commands being ignored by the fleeing youths.

\--

Ace shakes with laughter as he watches the scene from his perch atop the apartment complex. He struggles not to fall off as he cranes his neck, catching the last of his brother and his friends escaping the clutches of Smoker.

In the past, Ace would be more concerned when Luffy became Smoker’s target, but Luffy has gotten the hang of outmaneuvering the cigar-fueled officer. Ace feels his chest swell with pride.

A hand on his shoulder steadies him. “Watch it there, Ace. Don’t die on me.” The hand belongs to Sabo, his brother. Well, sworn brother, but who cares. Sabo peers at him from under the brim of his cap.

“Thanks, Sabo. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Ace smiles.

“I was thinking more for the welfare of the camera, but you’re welcome.” Sabo points at the camera dangling around Ace’s neck by a thick strap. Sabo sports a similar one.

Ace sticks his tongue out at him.

Sabo ventures towards the edge of the roof just in time to see Luffy and his friends Usopp and Chopper zip by on the sidewalk below. Usopp and Chopper are screaming their heads off, but Luffy just laughs obnoxiously as he sprints away.

Ace stands next to him, watching in amusement.

Sabo observes Smoker, who is hot on Luffy’s heels, as he continues yelling.  “So, that’s the one you keep bugging?”

“Yeah. He’s a funny guy.” Sabo looks at him questioningly.

“Ace, harassing the captain of the police force is not the best way to get on the good side of the law.” Sabo chastises him.

“Sabo, I’m trying to get on the good side of Smokey, not the proverbial law.”

“The law isn’t proverbial.” Sabo adjusts the neck strap of his own camera. “Remind me why you like pissing off Loguetown’s biggest guard dog again?”

“It’s because he’s more like… a grumpy old dog than anything else.” Sabo looks at him like he’s nuts. “I mean, he looks pissed all the time but really he’s just lonely. Kind of like that bear that tried to give Luffy a hug from behind the zoo glass.”

“I’m pretty sure both that bear and Smoker were trying to maul Luffy, not hug him.” Sabo sighs. “Look, whatever it is you’re planning, I advise you not to get arrested. Again.”

Sabo then offers him a smirk. “Can’t have my future as a revolutionary go down the drain just ‘cause I’m affiliated with a petty street thug, now can I?”

“Sabo, you wound me.” Ace places a hand over his heart and feigns a grimace.

“I am well aware.” Sabo grins, exposing the gap in his teeth that’s been there since they were kids. “Now let’s get these shots before someone sees us.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Sabo moves to the edge of the roof and carefully lowers himself onto the window ledge below. The next instant he jumps from the ledge and onto the roof of the building adjacent to his position. He lands with practiced precision, and looks back at Ace, who’s just dropping onto the window ledge.

Sabo doesn’t look at him, but Ace knows he’s waiting for the thud of his boots on the ground next to him. Ace does not fail to deliver.

Ace doesn’t remember how long they’ve been pulling stunts like these; it feels like he was born hopping rooftops and scaring apartment dwellers. But he does remember his partner joined him on his escapades.

He met Sabo, who was as dirty as he was, skulking on the streets. After an initial scuffle where they both tried to rob each other, he and the boy reached an agreement over scraped knuckles and swollen faces. They’d become quick partners in crime, stealing money from passerby and Sabo’s parents and stashing their loot away for a faraway dream of running away from their respective hellholes. At least, that was the plan. Things changed when Luffy showed up in their lives, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad change.

The memory makes a smile quirk his lips. They’ve come a long way, even if it wasn’t in the direction they wanted to go.

Sabo scours the skyline for an ideal scene, which has suddenly become cloudy. However, the dark gray smoke coming from distant buildings is still prominent on the silver background. He brings the camera up and takes a shot.

Ace is at his side and surveys the alley below. It’s narrow, dark, and filthy and the only inhabitants are a couple of stray cats and an overflowing dumpster that is receiving the cats’ affection. Ace leans over and takes a picture, precariously hanging his upper body over the ledge.  _Click._

When Ace returns, Sabo looks over his shoulder at what he’s taken. “Nice. Mind if I use it?”

“Go ahead.” While both Ace and Sabo have an appreciation for photography, their reasons are a bit different.

For Sabo, it was to expose the obvious oppression of the lower classes in the Grand Line by gathering moving evidence. Sabo even joined the underground organization that is led by Luffy’s dad and supported by equally interesting characters.

Ace occasionally helps out Sabo, but he mainly offers him his shots to use in his articles and essays. Ace likes capturing the city because it calms him down, which prevents him from doing something stupid like setting a car on fire or starting unnecessary fights. Gramps and Pops can only bail him out so many times, and now he actually needs his money to help Luffy get through college. No, he’d rather risk falling off a building than risk Luffy’s future.

“Looks like it’ll rain soon. Hey, where was that spot you said you wanted to go?” Sabo asks.

“It’s on the way back to East Blue, actually. Between Loguetown’s police station and our house.” Ace recalls what the setting looks like. “It had some nice graffiti… props to whoever did it, by the way.”

“Sounds good,” Sabo pauses. “Wait, police station?”

Ace nods. “Yeah, me n’ Smokey passed it on the way back home.”

“And you were walking home with Smoker because…? And it wasn’t in handcuffs, I hope?”

“I don’t think he’s  _that_ kinky.” Ace laughs as Sabo pretends to gag.

When Ace’s laugher settles, he elaborates. “No, I just gave him the scarf I made since I forgot it at home.”

“That atrocity with the tentacles?”

“I already told you, those are  _flames_ **.** Anyways, he liked it, I think.”

“Well, that’s good. I guess since your ‘scarf’ served as your metaphorical olive branch, maybe you  _are_  closer to becoming friends.” Sabo speculates thoughtfully.

Sabot meets his eyes. “Look, I know I can’t stop you once you decide to do something idiotic, but just be careful, okay? Just ‘cause he’s warmed up to you doesn’t change the fact that he’s the chief of police.”

Ace just smiles. “I’ll be fine, Sabo. I can handle myself, but thanks for worrying,  _mom_.”

Sabo punches Ace’s bicep with a grin.

\--

Ace and Sabo arrive at a defunct restaurant; the doors have been boarded up and the windows are covered with garbage bags. On the exterior of the building, there is smudged graffiti of angry statements and declarations of war. A small vase of wildflowers sits neatly next to the dark door.  

Sabo inspects the proximity with shining eyes and eager hands gripping his camera, but Ace throws his head back and looks at the clouds gathering above. The color reminds him of Smoker’s cigar smoke and rapidly graying hair. He quietly chuckles to himself when he remembers how Smoker reacts when prodded at about his age. And how Smoker reacts to things in general.

 “Hey, what do you think of this one?” Sabo beckons him over. The scene he captured is of the storefront; words are scrawled onto both sides of the entrance. ”’A celestial dragon ate our daughter and shackled us with her bones’… quite the story, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Ace doesn’t really understand the whole revolution thing Sabo is trying to pull off, but shots like these are bound to make a statement.

“Maybe I could ask the previous owners for what happened…” Sabo starts walking back towards the building, searching for more opportunities.

Ace isn’t too interested in the graffiti, but he follows Sabo anyways. He stops before the vase and snaps a picture of the wilted flowers instead, wondering if they’ll survive the impending storm.

Sabo is busying himself with the restaurant, which is great and all, but Ace is getting slightly restless. Rain is something he doesn’t enjoy and wet clothes are something he would like to avoid.

Ace looks through the lens of his camera for anything to hold his attention when a figure in the distance catches his eye.

He brings the camera down from his view and confirms the figure’s identity.

“Hey!” Ace calls out, jogging along the sidewalk towards the person, who is standing in front of a convenience store with a cloud of smoke rising from their mouth.

Smoker turns his head to look at the source of the unwelcome noise and his eyes widen when he realizes who it is.

Ace slinks up beside the officer and grins up at him. Smoker looks at him out of the corner of his eye with mild disdain.

“What’s up?” Ace is unperturbed by the other’s annoyance.

“Nothing.” Smoker grumbles.

Ace almost laughs because Smoker looks like a ruffled bird when he’s bundled up in the fur collar of his coat. His facial expression adds the finishing touch.

He probably lost Luffy’s trail for him to be so sour, Ace muses.

“And what are you doing, exactly, Portgas?” Smoker lifts the cigar to his mouth, still not looking at Ace.

“Takin’ some shots.” Ace shrugs.

“In an illegal context?”

“In a camera context.” Ace gestures to the camera around his neck.

“Never figured you for the ‘sensitive soul’ type.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m not sensitive, nor do I have a soul.” Ace lifts the camera strap over his head and takes the camera into his hands. “Wanna see?”

Smoker takes one arm out of the depths his pocket and holds his hand out. Ace places the camera in his large palm and observes him for a reaction.

Smoker flips through Ace’s recent pictures and Ace watches Smoker’s eyebrows furrow and rise, which is pretty entertaining.

When Smoker hands him back the camera, Ace expects some reprimanding about his ‘urban stunting’ or maybe a sarcastic remark that borderlines between sardonic and playful, but what comes out of Smoker’s mouth is neither.

“They’re nice,” The gray-haired man’s simple praise surprises Ace; for a second, he stands dumfounded, staring at Smoker’s frown before taking his camera back.

“Thanks.” Ace returns. He feels a little like he just downed a bottle of ginger ale, namely his stomach taking on the feeling.

It starts to drizzle afterwards and Smoker wrinkles his nose at the first drop of rain that lands on his face.

“Guess I’d better get going. See ya around, Portgas.” Smoker walks away and Ace is struck by sudden inspiration. He brings the camera up to his eye.  _Click._ That one’s a keeper, he thinks.  

Ace quickly puts the camera strap back around his neck and tucks the camera into his hoodie. He pulls his hood up and quickly walks back to Sabo.

“Hey. Ready to go?” Sabo asks, trying to cover the lens of his camera from the assault of raindrops with his hand. Ace nods, a large grin plastered on his face.

“Who was that, anyways?”

“Smokey. He must’ve given up on Luffy.”

“Smokey?” Sabo echoes, eyebrow arching. Really, Sabo had to stop being so skeptical or his eyebrows would fly away.

“Yeah,” Ace directs his attention at Sabo’s camera. “So what’d you get?”

Sabo’s eyes shine brightly again and a confident smile returns to his face. “Some damn good shots is what I’ve got.”

\--

Ace doesn’t get to see Sabo’s ‘damn good shots’ because the drizzle turns into a moderate shower and the moderate shower turns into a something whose volume rivals a tropical downpour.

The two of them sprint home, desperately covering their cameras with the articles of clothing on their bodies. They laugh wildly at the absurdity of it all when the wind sprays water in their face, but they’re still running, deep puddles and wet ankles forgotten with every stride. 

When they finally race up the walkway, Sabo hurriedly unlocks the door and burst inside. Luffy excitedly greets both them with a crushing hug that nearly sends all three of them tumbling down to the floor. Afterwards, Ace and Sabo make it a priority to change out of their wet clothes while Luffy is tasked with wiping off the rain from their cameras.

 “Hey! Where’d you guys go?” Luffy looks up from his seat at the dinner table when they walk into the kitchen in dry pajamas.

“I could ask the same thing of you.” Ace ruffles Luffy hair with one hand. “How’d you manage to get away from Smoker?”

“Huh? We… what did Usopp call it?” Luffy tilts his head a bit. “Oh yeah; he called it a ‘tactical retreat.’”

“Well, I just hope Smoker doesn’t charge you for your paintings.” Sabo takes his turn ruffling Luffy’s hair and smiles down at him.

“I don’t think he will.” Luffy replies unabashedly. “Nami said there was going to be a storm today so Usopp brought washable paint for me and Chopper to use. It’s probably washed off by now!”

“I don’t know if you’re scarily prudent or just extremely lucky…” Sabo sighs.

A flurry of giggles is his response.

Ace’s stomach breaks up the conversation with a loud growl, and Luffy’s follows after.

“I’m hungry!” Luffy declares, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

“Alright, alright, I’ll make dinner.” Sabo chuckles while Ace and Luffy cheer.

\--

Later that night, Ace is lying on his bed, making sure his camera is still in working order. He sifts through his pictures, wondering what Smoker thought when he looked through them.

He mindlessly presses the ‘next’ button until his eye rests on the last picture he took today.

It’s of Smoker, who was walking away. The only recognizable features in the shot are the mass of gray hair, the smoke surrounding his head, and the unique writing on his coat, which is flapping in the wind.

It reminds Ace of a dramatic movie poster, and he grins.  _Angry Cops: Cigar Addict Edition._

He sets the camera down on the nightstand and makes a note to show Smoker the next time he sees him. 


End file.
